


Emergence

by superagentwolf



Series: With Religious Fervor [5]
Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Find Graves 2k16, Gen, M/M, Post-Canon, Post-Grindelwald, Short
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-30
Updated: 2016-11-30
Packaged: 2018-09-03 05:18:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,904
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8698591
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/superagentwolf/pseuds/superagentwolf
Summary: Graves is lost. Credence finds him.





	

The burn of a hundred wands glowing with cruel light sears away everything he has ever known.

Credence screams- cries out because he does not want to die, wants to _live_ , wants to _become_ more. Wants not to be controlled by the power within him. He wants to be _free_.

The light erodes him until all that is left is a sliver, dark and swirling, searching for an escape.

He feels tiny. Smaller than when Mary Lou would beat him. He feels like a thought, a whisper, escaping the confines of the underground tunnel. He lets the wind carry him away, curls into himself as if sleeping.

It is a nightmare, not a dream.

His strength gathers. He is beyond physical form, too weak to condense himself into a body, so he drifts. As he waits, collecting, his anger simmers. It boils into a fury, rage that tastes like a bitter root filling a mouth that isn’t there.

Eventually he’s strong enough and so he _focuses_ , sure, directing every bit of his essence into finding. Finding Graves.

_Betrayer,_ a voice hisses in his mind. _Liar._ **_Liar_** _._

He lets the magic pull him where he wants to go. It is just like when Graves would appear, swirling into the alley. Credence feels a tiny seed of satisfaction, triumph at knowing that he can do this. Does not need help.

He crowds into a small space, only aware that he has been sucked through wood and brick and something else. He can feel himself swirling, not quite formless but not exactly human. Not concrete.

Before him, Graves is slumped in a corner.

Credence feels a vague sense of disgust. This is not Graves- it only looks like him. He is no longer proud; his sharp clothes are gone, replaced by a filthy white shirt and tattered pants. Credence is angry. He had wanted to face his enemy in all his glory. Had wanted to relish destroying him.

He stands before Graves, growling low, and the man raises his head. The look in his eyes floors Credence.

“…are you real?” Graves asks, wondering, as if he is asking the weather. His eyes are distant.

Credence bristles in fury, prepared to strike, but something nags at the back of his mind.

“Don’t do this,” Graves manages, shaking his head as he presses himself into the wall. His eyes focus for a moment and he blinks, seemingly trying to draw himself into reality. “Don’t look like him.”

_What?_

“I won’t beg,” Graves continues, voice stone even as it is broken and unused. “Don’t hurt him. Leave him be.”

Credence feels himself crack, just a little.

This is the Graves he remembers. The man who had been his hero. The man who had healed him, hesitant to touch, trying to _respect_ his boundaries. Respect no one else had afforded him.

“…Graves,” Credence murmurs, voice a thought on the wind.

Graves shakes his head and Credence can see the conflict swirling in the man’s dark eyes.

“ _Stop_. You’ve made your point. What do you want? _What do you want from me?_ ”

Credence pauses, trying to understand. He notices the bruises and cuts, wants to not care even as he feels the wounds mirrored on his skin. Graves’ hands are shaking- not from fear, he thinks, but because they are destroyed. Twisted and broken.

“Who did this to you?” Credence asks, unable to help himself.

“ _You_ did,” Graves growls, fighting even as he lies broken. “Do you like the sound of your own name? Grindelwald,” he spits, expression dark. “You’ve already taken my face. Don’t take his.”

_Oh._

It feels as if he’s falling. Something drops into the pit of his stomach and Credence exhales, the relief complete. He wonders distantly why he’s reacting this way. He answers himself.

“I didn’t want it to be you,” Credence says, voice wavering as he watches his solid hands reach for the man in the corner.

“No, no,” Graves shakes his head, turning his head. “Stop. _Stop_.”

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry I didn’t notice. I didn’t know,” Credence sobs, _wanting_. He wants to explain. To ask forgiveness.

His hands finally touch Graves’ arms, bloodied and grimy, and the man shudders, eyes wide and clear as he turns. His voice is a whisper.

“Credence?”

“Graves,” Credence gasps, giving in, half pulling and half resigning himself to be pulled.

He no longer wants to dissolve in the embrace; he wants to _hold_ Graves. He lets himself want, lets himself move closer as Graves’ body shudders with sobs.

“You’re safe. You’re safe,” Graves repeats, the mantra seeming to reassure not only Credence but himself.

“I knew you wouldn’t hurt me,” Credence says. He feels Graves shake minutely.

“…I might,” the man rasps, hands grasping at Credence’s shirt. “You should stay away from me.”

“No,” Credence refuses, moving away so that he can see the man’s face. “You left me.”

“I didn’t want to,” Graves shakes his head, tears squeezing past his eyes. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry he- I- betrayed your trust. I should have tried harder. I should have-,”

“It’s not your fault that I trusted you,” Credence says quietly.

“It’s my fault for not telling you we were equals,” Graves finally says, familiar hands on Credence’s cheeks. “We were always equals.”

“Then trust me,” Credence murmurs, enjoying the warmth of Graves’ hands even as he feels for the broken man. “Trust me to help you.”

Graves exhales, pulling forward to rest their foreheads together.

“I do trust you. But we have to help each other, Credence. We do this together.”

“Yes. Together.”

* * *

Graves can’t move so he calls for help.

“Stay behind me,” he tells Credence, feeling the burn of protection in his chest.

_I won’t let them hurt him._

He uses what little energy he has, knowing wandless magic is fickle. It requires control.

Tina is one of the first to apparate into the dingy apartment. Her eyebrows are drawn together as she crosses the abandoned room, slowing when she reaches the trunk.

“Oh, no,” Graves hears her say. He tilts his head to watch her open the heavy lid.

“Move back,” he tells her quietly, voice rough and cracked.

He is only able to disapparate out, resting against a wall, feeling the warmth of Credence’s body. Tina shrinks back when she sees the boy, cautious but hopeful.

“Credence?”

Graves can feel him nod. He is about to speak when Picquery appears, flanked by two Aurors.

“Graves- move back,” she says immediately, eyes darkening when she sees Credence.

“No.”

The room is silent.

Picquery recoils halfway, body tilting as she appraises him. She seems to be thinking. He can see thoughts fly through her head. _Is it him? Is he fine? Himself?_

A burn works its way into Graves’ body. He ignores it, thinking only that it is exhaustion. He looks to Tina.

“He found him,” Tina suddenly says, turning to look at Picquery, imploring.

Graves is grateful for her support. He is tired, doesn’t want to speak- and then he realizes the thing burning in him isn’t just fatigue.

_What was in my water?_

He reaches back instinctively, hand clutching a familiar wool jacket.

“Mister Graves?”

He almost breaks when he hears the worry in Credence’s voice. Instead he stares hard at Picquery, hoping his last expression will communicate just what he can’t say.

_Don’t you hurt him. Don’t you dare._

He falls to the ground slowly, groan escaping him as he feels his abused hands hitting the wood floor. He can hear Credence’s voice in his ear; feels the boy’s hands on his body.

_Graves! Mister Graves!_

* * *

 

Credence almost growls at Picquery when she stops by the room.

He isn’t sure he can trust the woman. He knows Graves holds some respect for her, though, so he settles for staring intently from his chair.

“How is he?” she asks Tina.

Tina is good. She has been visiting regularly. She understands Credence enough to leave him be for the moment.

“Better,” the witch says, fingers splayed across the pages of her book. “It’s almost out of his system. They were able to heal his hands, too.”

“Good,” Picquery says. She casts a glance at Credence, eyes wary.

When she leaves, Tina rises to go, too.

“Take care of him,” she smiles at Credence.

There is warmth in Tina, he thinks. She knows enough not to touch him, though. He is glad for her; he always has been, but he’s still too damaged to accept the kind smile of a woman. Mary Lou has scarred him. He sees shadows and anger everywhere.

“She won’t hurt you,” Graves says hoarsely.

“Mis-,”

“Graves is fine, Credence. If you must.”

Credence fights a smile. He isn’t sure what one feels like, not really, and he is afraid of them. For now.

“You’re better.”

“Am I?”

They are quiet. Credence watches Graves blink away his magical sleep, eyes distant. He raises his hands slowly, watching the way they don’t shake anymore. Credence had hated their brokenness. He remembered Graves’ hands _before_. Warm. Callused, but gentle.

“How do you feel?”

“They didn’t hurt you?” Graves asks, ignoring the question, dark eyes suddenly sharp.

“No,” Credence assures him, venturing a step closer. His hands twist in front of his chest; he cannot help the nervousness he feels.

It is as if they are meeting for the first time again. Somehow, he thinks, Graves seems even stronger than ever. Even here, in a bed, magic hiding but not quite erasing the abuse.

_It can never be erased. I learned that._

“Good,” Graves sighs. He hesitates, watching Credence’s face.

His hand- unblemished- moves an inch from the bed, fingers open, inviting but not commanding.

When Credence slides his hand into the man’s he exhales, shuddering, closing his eyes. He tries to hold the feeling, erase all the memories of the imposter with Graves’ body, replace the oil slick of manipulation with this. This warmth. Acceptance.

His eyes are closed when he suddenly feels a warmth against his hand. He blinks, jolting, opening his eyes to see Graves looking fairly distraught as Credence’s hand leaves his forehead.

“I’m sorry,” the man says quietly.

“No-,” Credence starts, trying, because he _wants_ to be close.

He _wants_ to be close to Graves again. He wants to wash away Grindelwald, forget the way an imposter’s hand had touched his face with Graves’ hand. How he had slapped him.

“You need time,” Graves continues firmly, even as he looks away, at the wall. “You cannot change this simply by staying with me.”

“I don’t want to leave you,” Credence tries, hating how his voice trembles.

“You can’t rely on me,” Graves spits, still glaring at the wall as if it Grindelwald himself. “I have been used against you once already. Go.”

“Would anyone else have escaped?”

Graves is silent.

_Answer me,_ Credence wills. _I don’t know magic. I know nothing of this world. **Are** you powerful? Are you the rule, or the exception?_

“…no,” Graves sighs, finally turning back to look at Credence. “Can you live with this?”

“I want to live,” Credence says firmly. “I want to learn.”

“…good,” Graves says softly, eyelids heavy with sleep. His hand twitches involuntarily.

Credence reaches out, sure, initiating. He watches the way Graves’ eyes widen, then focus, sad. He wants to wipe the sadness away. _Like you once healed me._

“I will be here,” Credence whispers.

_I will not leave you._

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah...I have an addiction. I think these two are becoming my relief from this semester. Hopefully you enjoyed this! I'll bring more soon.


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